


Showing (One-Shot)

by LeafyGreenQueen773



Series: Come On, Spider-Man [2]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Wade Wilson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, BAMF Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker/Top Wade Wilson, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Peter Parker, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Pregnant Peter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 07:50:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14786429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafyGreenQueen773/pseuds/LeafyGreenQueen773
Summary: A one-shot short story about how getting pregnant as a male Omega is ruining Peter Parker's life.(This is in the same universe as my other story, Nobody Wants to Be an Omega.)A better summary: The best thing in Peter's life, besides Wade, is that he gets to be Spider-Man.  But when he accidentally gets pregnant at age 21, everything is at risk of being taken away from him.Warning for one violent scene.  Trigger warning for mention of abortion and risk of miscarriage.





	Showing (One-Shot)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is my first one-shot story, but it's basically a short spin-off of my other story, Nobody Wants to Be an Omega, which is also about Omega Peter and Alpha Wade. Yes, I wrote this all in one sitting and didn't really edit. Hopefully it's enjoyable, though.
> 
> No smut, just Mpreg stuff. It's a weird kink but hey, what are we all here for, anyway?

Peter stared at himself in the mirror. The sunlight bouncing off the window across the street from his apartment in Queens was casting a strange orange glow against the cheap frame hanging from the back of his bedroom door. It back-lit him a little; a golden halo seemed to rim his hair.

He turned to the side and examined his silhouette, brow furrowed. Then he ran a hand over his belly, over the tight abdominal muscles, and felt his throat constrict.

“Wade...do I...? Am I...?” he started and faltered, not quite sure what to say.

A shadow came across the orange light shining on the mirror as the larger, taller man stepped up behind him. Normally Wade would be in his Deadpool suit by now, and they'd be hitting the streets together on patrol. But things had been changing lately – changing quite a bit.

“...Are you noticeable, is that what you want to know?” Wade murmured, placing his big hands on either of Peter's shoulders and looking at their reflections on the back of the door.

Peter's throat tightened more. He reached up and pitched the bridge of his nose, trying to stopper the tears that were burning in his eyes. “Fuck,” he hissed. One salty drop ran down his thumb.

“Hey, Peter, shhhh.” One of Wade's hands moved from Peter's shoulder to the underside of his chin. “It's going to be okay.”

Peter let go of his nose and pushed Wade's hand away. Anger, frustration, fear, embarrassment...everything swelled up in his chest as he stepped closer to the mirror. “It's NOT going to be okay, Wade. I've been pretending this isn't real, that this is just a bad fucking dream, but...” He couldn't deny it now. The evidence was there in front of him, very slowly creeping up into his life. “I'm starting to show.”

“Baby boy, you are barely showing. Honestly, people who don't know wouldn't even think about it. It looks like you ate recently.”

Peter turned away from the mirror and looked at his partner. It had been more than three years since Wade Wilson, A.K.A. Deadpool, A.K.A. The Merc with a Mouth, had helped him through his first Omega heat. They'd been through a lot together, from catastrophic threats to the city, to Peter's hectic education, to drama with the Avengers. But nothing had derailed Peter's life quite like the event three months ago. Peter had gone into heat, Wade had come over, and they'd done everything as usual. Except...not everything was usual. The heat lasted only 36 hours – the shortest one Peter had ever had. And he'd been strangely horny throughout the rest of the month, too. Not quite the same as when he was in heat, but noticeably more interested in sex. He hadn't been too concerned until he started lubricating off-schedule, about a week earlier than he was supposed to go into heat. When he went off his Phase 2 heat regulators, but his heat didn't come, then he was alarmed.

Wade had bought exactly 27 pregnancy tests. Peter drank about a gallon of water and did roughly half of them before he was convinced. This wasn't a joke. He was pregnant.

There was no point in speculating about what had gone wrong, whether it was the condom breaking or leaking, or just some stray fluids getting where they weren't supposed to be, but Peter didn't blame Wade. He didn't blame him for knocking Peter up. What he did blame him for was that he didn't seem to understand how much it was going to fuck Peter's life over.

“You don't get it!” Peter snapped suddenly. “You don't GET how this is going to ruin me! Wade, I'm in my junior year of college. I'm living paycheck to shitty paycheck. The only thing that keeps me going is that I'm Spider-Man. But I can't BE Spider-Man if I'm an obviously pregnant Omega, okay? Do you get that?” He broke off for a second before reaching over to his suit, which was flung over the back of his desk chair. He tore it off the chair and waved it in front of Wade's face. “This thing leaves nothing – NOTHING – to the imagination. I've been watching my own body for the last two months, hoping and praying that I get to go out on patrol another night, just another fucking night. And now, I know the end is coming. Because I can't fucking put this suit on if I'm showing!”

Peter wasn't sure what pissed him off more, Wade's silence or the way that the man was looking at him with a pitying expression. “Fuck you, Wade.”

“Petey, come on.”

“No. Fuck. You.”

“Peter – ”

There was nothing in the world that Wade could say at the moment to make Peter feel better. He jabbed his middle finger at the mercenary's face, then turned his attention to his limp Spider-Man suit and stepped into it. It hung limply from his frame while he put it on, but the moment he punched the spider drone in his chest, the whole thing went skin-tight. And there – barely there, but still completely and utterly there – was the slight curve of his previously-flat belly. Wade was probably right, it just looked like he'd eaten or that he was standing with bad posture, perhaps, but it wasn't either of those things, and Peter couldn't forget that it wasn't. It was a damn baby, half of which Wade had put in him. He was fucking lucky that his powers had given him lean, strong muscle that corded around his limbs and lined his torso. It was probably only his tight abdominal muscles that had provided him this much control over how fast he was showing. But even they couldn't hide a baby forever.

“Where are you going?” Wade sounded resigned, but the worry in his voice was still there. Peter ignored it. He didn't need to feel anything for Wade right now, except the anger that he was hoping would propel him through a good long patrol.

“Don't wait up.”

 

~~~~

 

Peter had always loved being Spider-Man. Even on the days when things were bad – even when he had disappointed Mr. Stark, or when some bad guy had taken Peter to the end of his tether – nothing was quite like swinging around the city. It gave him so much, including a sense of purpose that he got from nothing else.

Of course, he'd felt purpose with Wade, too. Even though they weren't exactly mated, they still considered themselves partners, and they did romantic things together. Wade was his boyfriend in public, and his teammate in their suits. The good city of New York had even learned to tolerate Deadpool, since he was un-aliving people a lot less now that he hung out with Spider-Man. Most people probably considered Spider-Man to be Deadpool's mentor of some kind. If only they knew how many years the mercenary had on him. Peter was barely legal to drink, after all.

Recently, though, being Spider-Man had become a lot more complicated. There were several reasons why, but one of them was his pregnancy symptoms. It was not easy to swing from building to building when a wave of nausea could come on at any time. And he always had to fucking _pee_.

As Peter flew past a row of office buildings in lower Manhattan, he felt his stomach turn. He caught the edge of a building and clung to it, a regrettable twenty-two stories above the pavement. If he vomited up here, the wind would probably cause him to spray about half a city block. Luckily, he'd learned after a few incidences that he could master some of the nausea if he just pressed his forehead to something stable and held onto something solid. Sure enough, after about thirty seconds, the feeling started to pass. All the same, he took one hand from the building and rolled up the bottom edge of his mask to get some fresh air. His deep breaths of the New York atmosphere only made his stomach look more swollen. He closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to look at it.

The first obvious pregnancy symptom he'd experienced had actually been ungodly fatigue. Peter had felt it nearly all the time. His classes seemed to stretch on and on. He'd made his patrols shorter to combat the feeling of not having slept for a week. And, of course, there had been the “morning sickness.” Noticing tenderness in his chest had been an eye-opener, too, but luckily they hadn't seemed to swell much. Really, in the end, he had one big concern. It had all come down to when his belly would start protruding.

“God dammit,” Peter whispered into the side of the building.

He knew it, deep down. His days as Spider-Man were numbered.

 

~~~~

 

It took Peter three more patrols to hang up the suit.

Wade hadn't been there when Peter had donned the spandex, caught sight of himself in the mirror, and broken down. It was obvious now – he was at 14 weeks, after all – and on his slender frame, even his abdominal muscles weren't concealing it anymore. There was a noticeable curve to his belly. He even tried to suck in his breath to see if it would help, but yet it stayed. His lower belly, just above his pelvic bone, was firm under his fingertips.

Peter kicked off the suit and flung it into the corner.

Mr. Stark had once told him, “If you're nothing without this suit, then you shouldn't have it.” Those words had helped him, on countless occasions, if he was honest with himself. Peter still remembered being crushed under the roof of Adrian Toomes's warehouse. He'd been unable to draw breath, unable to move. He'd tried screaming for help. Ultimately, Mr. Stark's words had been what had made him realize that Spider-Man was not the suit. He was already Spider-Man, and the suit didn't add anything to his own personal worth.

But that was all ages ago now. Despite all the self-realization he'd been through over the last five years as the wall-crawler, despite how much he knew that he was still Spider-Man, the bundle of red spandex in the corner made him feel worthless. He was worthless.

A sharp tap on the window brought his attention back. A red and black mask with white eyes was out on his fire escape. Wade.

In spite of the anger he'd felt two weeks before, Peter felt himself automatically going to the window and prying it open. Wade easily slid inside.

“Hey, baby boy.”

“Hey, Wade.”

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Peter felt horribly exposed, standing there in his boxers, knowing that his partner's eyes were on Peter's changing body.

Then, Wade folded him into a hug.

“I'm sorry, Petey. I really am. For everything,” the man murmured into Peter's hair.

Peter wasn't sure how long he'd been holding in tears. All he knew was that they were spilling out onto the leather shoulder of the Deadpool suit. And then he was absolutely sobbing, dissolving into the hopelessness that had taken over him.

“I...I c-can't do this!”

Wade pulled him closer, cupping the back of Peter's head. “Let it out, baby boy.”

“This wasn't s-supposed to happen! I c-can't carry this baby, I can't d-do this!”

Peter was a complete mess, but there was nothing for it. He was crying in an almost embarrassing way, the kind of crying that wracks the body and weakens the knees. Wade simply held him.

And kept holding him.

Wade held Peter until they were both on the bed, lying quietly next to one another, Peter's sobbing finished hours before. The man had held him through the important discussion that was coming, the tearful questions, the soft reassurances.

“I'll be here for you, no matter what happens,” Wade had said to him. “This is your choice.”

“I...I don't want to give up. I'm scared, but I don't...I don't want to end it.”

“Are you sure?”

Peter had swallowed and stared into Wade's brown, mask-free eyes. “I'm sure.”

Now, Peter could feel sleep coming over him. He'd said what he needed to say, for the most part. He just had one more question.

“Wade.”

The mercenary opened his eyes slightly, blearily. “Hmm?”

“I need to ask you something.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

Peter closed his eyes. “Are you going to stay with me?”

For a moment, there was no answer. Peter's heart pounded up into his throat. Maybe Wade didn't want to respond. Maybe he'd fallen asleep again...?

Then, a soft, warm weight settled on Peter's swollen abdomen. He opened his eyes in surprise. Wade's hand was on his small bump.

“Peter. Always.”

 

~~~~

 

Once he'd started to show a little, Peter hadn't bargained for how quickly things would become noticeable, not only in the suit. He wore his jeans down on his hips, mostly, which meant that he never really felt his pants getting tight. But it didn't take a genius to see that his small, athletic frame was changing, and his clothes were fitting differently. Rather than his usual button-up and sweater, he'd started wearing his old Midtown Tech sweatshirt, which was rather baggy on him, more and more often. It hid his stomach at first, but by the time another six weeks had gone by, and he was halfway through his pregnancy, there was really nothing that could hide it anymore.

Sitting down with his professors, one by one, was probably the most humiliating thing that had ever happened to him.

Luckily, as he stepped out of the main hall on campus after a very, very long day, Wade was waiting for him, all incognito in a hoodie and jeans.

“How'd it go, baby boy?” Wade asked softly, extending his hand for Peter to take.

“The dean is letting me finish the last four weeks of the semester and then I'm taking a leave of absence. My professors all understand. Dr. Collins is even cutting one of the lab reports because he said I was probably 'under enough stress as it is.'”

“So, success?”

Peter shrugged. “I guess so.”

Wade must have seen the look on Peter's face, because in an instant the man was dragging Peter down the sidewalk toward the subway station. “In that case, we're getting rainbow bagels.”

Peter couldn't keep his reluctance down. “Really? Those are in Brooklyn, Wade. We're riding the subway to Brooklyn for bagels?”

“Yep.” Wade addressed his shoulder for a moment. “It IS a good idea, you idiot.”

Peter couldn't help but smile. “Yes. It's a good idea. You can tell the boxes that.”

“Thank you!”

The subway ride, of course, wasn't drama-free. Peter's bump drew a few looks here and there. Of course, he wasn't the only male Omega to ever get knocked up, but considering that male Omegas only accounted for a little less than a third of the male population, and Peter did look quite young, he could see why he seemed to be a bit of a spectacle. All the same, it was embarrassing as a woman hastily got up to give Peter her seat in one of the cars. His cheeks burned as he lowered himself onto the bench, and he held his backpack in front of him in the hopes that people would eventually look away.

All the while, Wade was standing protectively over him, probably giving ugly looks to anyone who stared too long.

When they finally reached their stop in Brooklyn, Peter and Wade got out of the subway car and started for the stairs. He was young and he still had great stamina because of his powers, but Peter had to admit that he was liking stairs less and less. A pang of sadness hit him when he realized that webbing around the city was probably physically impossible now.

Then, as they surfaced into the noise and light of the city, Peter's super-sensitive ears heard it.

A woman screaming.

Peter stopped cold and turned around.

“Petey, what...” Wade started to say, and then he caught sight of Peter. “Is something wrong?”

The screaming intensified. It wasn't too far away, but for those who didn't have the same senses that Peter did, the sound was getting drowned out by the regular bustle of Brooklyn. The backpack slid off Peter's shoulders and onto the concrete.

“Hey. Petey, what's...what are you...hey! STOP. PETER, STOP!”

But Peter was already running.

He didn't think about the awkward balance of his body as he sprinted. He didn't think about how he was losing Wade in the crowd, dodging between pedestrians, making his way to the sound. He didn't think about the fact that he wasn't in his suit, he didn't have his web-shooters, and he was five months pregnant.

He was just doing what he had to do.

The pin-pointed sound of the woman's pleas, piercing his ears over the hum of traffic, led Peter down the block, to the right, across the street, and into an alley. There, at the end of it, behind a dumpster, a scuffle was happening.

Peter was already breathing far too hard, already sore everywhere, but still he made his way down the alley, his brain trying to formulate a plan.

Instead, he was cut short by a man standing up from behind the dumpster, spitting on the ground, and turning to look right at him.

“What the fuck do you want?”

Peter held out a hand at waist level, tentatively, attempting to be calm. “Hey, man, be cool. I'm just trying to see what's happening.”

The man was tall, and massive, with a red scar across the bridge of his nose that crinkled up as he sneered at Peter, eyes doing a quick run over Peter's body. “Nothing that concerns you. Now run along to your Alpha, you little bitch.”

Although the dumpster was still in the way, Peter could see the calves, ankles, and high-heeled shoes of a woman. “Ma'am, are you okay?” he called.

“Hey! What the fuck did I just say? This doesn't concern you.”

“Ma'am?” The woman's feet shifted. A small sound came from behind the dumpster.

Suddenly, the scarred man moved, and a sharp tingle shot down Peter's spine. He took a step back reflexively as the man jabbed forward with a knife that he'd produced out of his pocket. In a moment of instinct, Peter had side-stepped the attack, grabbed the man's wrist, knocked the knife out of his hand, and kicked it down the alley. All in the blink of an eye.

The thought ran across his head that maybe, perhaps, he could actually get the upper-hand over the man, when, in the same instant, the man turned and landed a hard punch right to Peter's gut.

Stars split his vision.

Before he knew what was happening, Peter was on the wet asphalt of the alley, hands over his stomach. An echo that was reverberating around the walls told him that someone was yelling – after a second, he realized it was him.

Then, he felt pain more excruciating than anything that had ever happened to him. The scarred man's boot connected with Peter's body; the bones in his right hand, which was right over his belly button, cracked; the kinetic energy of the kick went right into Peter's abdomen. For a moment, which seemed to go on and on, the thought crossed his mind that he was dying. There was no other explanation for this pain.

Somewhere, beyond the shock that was flooding his system, there was a strange popping noise. Loud, very loud, but yet very far away.

Something heavy fell to the ground in front of Peter.

Then, the sound of fast footsteps, and gentle, warm, strong hands. On his cheek. On his shoulder. On his belly.

Someone was saying something. His name perhaps, or something else entirely. It didn't matter, because he couldn't answer. He couldn't answer, and he couldn't breathe, and really, the only thing he could do, it seemed, was fall back into the abyss that wanted to claim him.

And so he did.

 

~~~~

 

Peter's alarm clock was going off.

It was a slow, methodical beeping sound. Soft, not too demanding. But it was telling him to wake up. Wasn't it?

No, that wasn't quite right. Peter's alarm clock wasn't a beeping sound. He usually woke up to “Time to Pretend” by MGMT. But there was definitely an incessant beeping somewhere nearby. Maybe it was telling him to wake up, too?

 _Yes,_ he decided. _It's time to wake up._

It wasn't easy. His eyelids felt like they were weighed down, like he was under 50 feet of water. But he was Spider-Man. He could do it. He could do anything.

The room blinked into view.

Peter couldn't immediately understand where, exactly, he was. It was clear that everything was starkly white, from the walls, to the ceiling, to the sheets covering him, to the cast on his right arm. But where were things quite so white, quite so clean?

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Oh, no.

Panic invaded him, with no finesse and no warning. The beeping of the heart monitor got faster as he tried to move; he was somehow stuck under all the sheets, and his useless casted-up hand was only getting in the way, and he was just thrashing around aimlessly.

Then, there was the sound of the door to the room opening, and suddenly Wade, in a long-sleeve T-shirt, jeans, and baseball cap, was standing at the foot of bed, eyes wide.

“Peter.” Wade said his name like a benediction.

“Wade,” Peter tried weakly.

The man in front of him seemed to crumple. “Oh my God, baby boy...oh my God...” He nearly fell to the side of Peter's bed, his large, scarred hands holding Peter's cast like it was the most precious thing he'd ever seen. “You're awake.”

Peter wanted to say things, but his throat was so dry, he could barely speak. “The woman,” he croaked, and it hurt to talk.

Wade breathed an incredulous sigh. “Of course that's the first thing you care about. We got an ambulance on site immediately to take you both to the hospital, but she wasn't as bad as you. I think she already went home yesterday.”

Peter wanted to say more, but he didn't think he could get anything out. Instead, he just looked at Wade's brown eyes, which were wet at the corners, for some reason.

Then, Peter remembered something. Something important.

His left hand went to his belly, and he looked at it, at the bump, that was under the white sheet.

The heart monitor was racing.

“Hey, hey, baby boy, listen to me,” Wade said quickly. When Peter didn't look, the man gently reached up and guided Peter's chin toward him. “Look at me. Listen to me.”

Peter just stared at the brown eyes. What if everything was already lost? He'd made the decision to keep going with his pregnancy; he'd made the hardest decision of his life. What if it was taken away from him anyway?

Wade leaned closer, eyes wide. “Everything is okay. You're okay. She's okay.”

Peter swallowed hard. “She?” he managed.

“Yes. She. Our girl. She's fine.”

“She's fine?”  It was barely a whisper.

“She's fine.”

Everything seemed to move slowly. Everything took so much energy. Peter wanted to close his eyes. For hours, he wanted to close his eyes. But instead, he looked at Wade, who pulled up a chair to his bedside, and he let Wade talk. He let him talk about everything, but especially about their girl.

And every once in a while, Peter interrupted Wade, only managing two words, as if hearing the response over and over again could make everything right in the world.

“She's fine?” Peter would murmur.

And Wade would smile, that scarred smile that Peter had grown to love over the years, and he would whisper back, “She's fine.”

 

 

 

~~~~

 

It was another four months before Peter was back in the hospital. He spent an eventful 17 hours in the male Omega delivery ward, with Wade holding his hand for most of them, before the squalling baby made her appearance. They had come up with a good long list of names before the day, but both Peter and Wade had agreed that it was better to wait until they saw her to officially give her a name. When the nurse laid the little red-faced girl on Peter's chest, his heart had never felt so full.

“Would it be weird to call her Mayella?”

Wade shrugged. “A bit. It sounds very _Little House on the Prairie_.”

Peter laughed a little. “We'll make it trend in Queens.”

The little girl on Peter's chest blinked around blearily, and he could feel her squirming in her blanket. Nothing could ever be happier than this moment.

“She's got your eyes,” Peter murmured.

“And hopefully nothing else,” Wade hummed into Peter's hair.

“I hope she has your heart.”

Wade paused before kissing Peter on the head and lowering himself to see the girl more clearly. “Nah, she'll have yours. She's definitely going to be a hero.”

 


End file.
